The fox stares me down in one up-swelling................................................. recollection, then spins
...............................psychotically in its cage. As if to say,You’ve come such a long distance............and escaped nothing.

I no longer know what to make............of the hallways I’ve pressed into,
the well-bottom stairwells............of the body I was, shucking itself........................of gates.

Something unreasonable within me...............................strikes a pose. And the pose says it................................... says it all. Recalling voices...............................glide the halls—the few good echoes
of the fugue— ......... come back as my minimals: a boy with a
trepidation: a shrug in the record,......... a nostalgium; a bloom: crushed—...................... —crushing,
despite years of yellowed pages pressing in.